Of Grief
by Andy the willow tree
Summary: In which we discover what exactly the pain of being immortal, when all your friends are mortals is. After all, mortality was the gift of the men.


**Disclaimer: Not mine. I don't own it, wouldn't really want to anyways, seeing as it would stay half finished in my head for all of eternity. Those rights go to Tolkien.**

 **Short note before we begin, I'm pretty sure this could pass for an AU, but seeing as we don't really know what happened to Middle Earth, and Valinor after Aragon died, it could also pass for canon, that's for you to decide. Although the characters might be a little OOC, seeing as I've never written them before.**

 **Second note: This isn't a happy story.**

* * *

When Gimli died, Legolas was sleeping next to him. He awoke to a cold hand in his. After several moments of confusion, and repeating of the dwarf's name, the truth hit him. An anguished cry had rent the air. And by the time Gandalf (now Olórin), who'd been staying nearby, when he learned of Gimli's failing health, found the elf, he was on the floor, curled in a ball, rocking back and forth, murmuring Gimli's name over, and over again.

Legolas was lost in his own mind, unable to respond to anything around him. Even when they moved the dwarf's body to prepare it for the burial, the blonde elf hadn't reacted. Eventually someone dropped a blanket around his shoulders, and led him to his room to sleep. Next morning he was back in Gimli's old room. He was silent this time, just standing there, not moving, or blinking.

He kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and the only movement he made was his hand clenching, and unclenching on edge of it.

In the week that passed before the funeral, this would repeat itself. Every evening, someone (usually Olórin) would lead him to bed, and the next morning, Legolas would be back in Gimli's room.

It could be said he was fading, except he had yet to show any signs of that, besides the vacant stares of course.

At the funeral he didn't react at all, just stared straight forward. He seemed to have turned to stone. A stone that's soul had dimmed when it's dwarf left it alone. After the funeral was complete, someone lead him back to the house.

The next day, instead of finding him in Gimli's room, they found him in the small graveyard consisting of very few elves, and the mortals who had traveled to the Undying Lands. So the patterned repeated itself.

The elf refused to eat, and could always be found curled up against Gimli's headstone. His only movement was that of a singular hand closing, and opening around the blanket.

The years passed, and still he didn't fade. Healer's tried everything, but nothing had an effect. No matter where they took him, he always found his way back to the headstone, and would curl up there. Slowly everyone began to leave him alone, with only the occasional person taking him back to a house for rest.

He grew thin, so thin that you could see every bone, every vein. His fat, and muscle build up, all but disappeared, leaving a phantom in the place of the once strong elf. His blanket turned ragged, and threadbare. So much so that they tried to replace it.

That got a reaction out of the aggrieved elf. He clutched it closer and shrieked. His eyes were that of a cornered wild animal, scared, and fey, but dangerous as well. Once the poor elf who was only trying to help, stopped, he went back to his unresponsive state.

Elflings would tell tales about the silent figure, who although he spent all his time outside, had slowly turned paler than marble. When their parents caught them at this, they would explain that it was wrong to make fun of someone who was sick.

It became taboo to talk about him, bad luck to get too close, lest you catch the sorrow.

And yet he didn't fade.

Of course none of them knew about the promise Gimli had made him make. Gimli's last request of his dear friend had been that he wouldn't fade, he wouldn't die after the dwarf had passed. And so the elf stubbornly persisted on living.

The ages passed, and yet the silent figure that had once been Legolas, one of the Fellowship, and Three Hunters, wasted away, trapped in a prison of his own mind. His body remained, and yet his soul seemed to have fled. Slowly he became little more than living stone. Something that breathed, but didn't move, or respond. The trees he had once loved so much were more animated then he.

Eventually he was all but forgotten, even by those who knew him best. After all, forever was a long time to wait. And that seemed to be what he was waiting for.

Time moved on without him. In Arda, the Fellowship became story, then legend, and then lost in the mists of time. And in Valinor? The reign of Sauron just a small blimp in history. And eventually, it too was forgotten by those in the Lands where nothing was suppose to become more than memory.

The graveyard that the creature who had once been an elf resided in was eventually left in the history of Valinor's people as well. Even Olórin seemed to forget about it, but every time he passed by, he felt a nagging feeling about it. He eventually began to avoid the place. It was to unsettling.

And life passed on, and the graveyard too, was forgotten. The figure in it as well, even by what was once his kin, and now would have been considered strangers.

And it to forgot itself. The figure, became little more than papery thin skin, bones, and a beating heart. Overlarge, lifeless eyes staring out of the skull. All would be hard pressed to even determine if it was a living thing at one point, ignoring the fact that it, as it was now little more than thing, was still alive.

But then the end of all ages came to pass, and the sundering of the world happened. The dead were once more reborn, the destroyed rebuilt, the forgotten remembered.

And Gimli set his first task down to find that impossible elf, who seemed to have disappeared from all knowledge and reckoning, seeing as the last memory anyone had of him was from the funeral, several thousand ages before. The reunited Fellowship set out to help Gimli hunt down their wayward elf.

The task did not prove easy. For the graveyard had truly been forgotten, not to be remembered. But give up they did not. Though they were most definitely not prepared for what greeted them when they found their lost member.

* * *

The thing stirred slightly, there were voices in it's… it's… where was it again? Ahh, yes, the graveyard. There were voices in it's graveyard. Or at least it thought they were voices, it had been so long since it had heard a voice. So long in fact, that it couldn't quite remember what a voice was.

It shrugged slightly. These _voices_ were probably just the wind, being playful. It's mind went under once more.

Only for several seconds later, it to be disturbed once more.

"Pip, I think that's a gravestone."

"I thought elves were immortal?"

"Not everyone here was an elf. There was Bilbo, and Frodo, and Gimli, after all."

It startled, it recognized that word, _gimli_. What was a gimli now? Something safe, and comforting, after all that's the feeling the words brought to mind. In the deep recesses of it's mind, the word came to light on a memory. A gruff voice… saying something, something about a number? What was a number now? That thought disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and was replaced by a small smile. It had figure out it's original question.

A Gimli wasn't a what, but rather a _who_. A dwarf, it's memory supplied.

What's a dwarf? It asked. It didn't remember.

"This is a rather odd shaped rock, Merry, doesn't look like it belongs." Those pesky voices were back, and now something was nudging it. It wanted to go back to pondering the mystery of Gimli.

"Wait Pip! Stand back here for a moment, that stone looks like someone!"

"Your right, Merry! Hey Gimli! Strider! We found something!"

Two more footsteps sounded off to the side. Footsteps? What are footsteps? It was not given much more time to wonder, when suddenly there was light, from moss peeled away. The thing whimpered slightly, and tried to curl up more, only to find that it couldn't move. Four faces (faces?) stared down at it. Two curly haired ones, and one with sorrowful grey eyes, and another with a red beard (beard? Dwarf? Dwarves had beards didn't they?)

"Legolas?" the grey eyes said with concern. (could eyes speak?) It whimpered. It didn't like this, it wanted to go back to the dark, where things weren't so painful, already it's heart was paining it. (griefs unnumbered, it's brain supplied. It was to tired to question, and just went with it.)

A gruff voice now sounded, "It's alright, lad." It's mind whirled, that voice. Something about that voice!

(Two other voices were whispering, "What's wrong with him? Why doesn't he recognise us?" "Pip, shut up.")

Finally it's mind settled. That voice was Gimli's! Whoever Gimli was.

It couldn't seem to remember, which meant it had to ask. But how do voices work, so that one might ask a question? It attempted to speak, and all it could muster was another whimper. That exhausted it, though.

("Let's get him back to the house. Inform the others we've found him. Maybe Gandalf will know what's wrong." "He forgot him, how's he supposed to know" "I don't know. Here, I'll carry him.") Then something was lifting it up and away, and it felt quite tired, and fell asleep rather promptly, much to the shock of the four who had happened upon him.

* * *

Several hours later it awoke, but it did not move. This place was unfamiliar. Where was it's blanket? (what was a blanket? Why was it important again?) It panicked slightly, but then the gruff voice (Gimli's, it's mind supplied helpfully), was there speaking to it, "Lad, your okay, it's okay lad. Calm down, you'll only hurt yourself worse."

It passed into dreams again.

* * *

And so it went for several very frustrating weeks. The elf was too weak to be awake for to long, and only seemed to calm when Gimli spoke to him. As near as the Fellowship could figure out, Legolas had forgotten everything, and everyone, including himself, while excluding Gimli. He was confused, and frightened.

It took a while, but they eventually got him closer to a more healthy (still incredibly starved) appearance, and weight. Legolas started stay awake for slightly longer time periods. No more than eight minutes though. And he still hadn't said a word.

* * *

It awoke once more. It blinked around the room, coming to rest on Gimli's face. Gimli smiled when he saw it awake, "Legolas, lad?"

 _Legolas_. They said that word to it a lot, but it didn't know why. _Legolas, legolas, legolas, legolas_. It echoed through it's head like a chant, bouncing through where it's memories should be. _Legolas, legolas, legolas._ Him, this legolas thingy wasn't a what, but a _who_. Like Gimli. Legolas was a him. Mystery solved. It could go back to sleep now.

Except it's mind didn't stop there, it kept going. Legolas wasn't a dwarf, nor man, nor hobbit. As this was what those other voice who were sometimes there were, but something else. An… an… elf? What was an _elf_?

"Elf? Lad? Are you okay? Legolas!" Gimli's voice was becoming a bit frantic. It frowned. Gimli shouldn't be frantic.

Then it hit it, all at once. Every memory came pouring in, and it was slightly terrifying, but also relieving, because all the gaps where gone, and he wasn't an it, nor a thing, but a him, a he, and an elf.

He blinked his eyes open, and he was tired oh, so tired, but he had to make sure it was really Gimli, and not some cruel trick. His heart couldn't bare it if it was. "Gimli?"

Gimli's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth dropped in surprise, "Legolas?"

Legolas blinked up at him, his eyes still sunk deep into a to starved face, "Gimli. Gimli… you here… you… I…?" He blinked around in confusion, even as his eyes started to slide shut, panic began to snake through him. "Gimli!"

"It's okay, Lad. You're tired. It's okay, shh, go to sleep, shhh, it's alright." Gimli soothed him.

But he had to say something, something important, "Gimli! Gimli…. I …. My promise…. I'm… sorry…. Don't leave….me… I…."

"Shhh, it's okay Lad, your alright, sleep. Everything will be alright. You'll see. I'm not going to leave you." So Legolas did sleep.

* * *

And when he awoke he greeted Aragon, and then ate a little, and slept some more. So the rest of the year passed, and he was eventually let out of the bed, even if he was to weak to go much farther than the chair next to the bed, and even then he needed help, but everything was alright, because his friends were there. And eventually he saw his family, even if the relationship was slightly strained, because they had forgotten him, and left him to his grief, much the same as to how it was with Mithrandir, but those relationships would heal, just as he was.

He had his friends back, and if sometimes he would wake in the middle of the night, panicked that it had all been a dream, and they were still gone, they were there to reminded him that he wasn't alone, and that he was okay.

So eventually he healed from his sorrow, even if it was slow going at times. Mostly he was just glad he had his friends back, especially Gimli.

* * *

 **Why do I suspect that if anyone bothers to review it's gonna be flames telling me I've screwed everything up?**

 **For any curious, Mithrandir, Gandalf, and Olórin are all the same person. He's got as many, if not more names then Aragon.**


End file.
